


Saving Grace

by GothicLolita009



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-08-08
Updated: 2011-08-08
Packaged: 2017-11-14 22:30:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/520187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GothicLolita009/pseuds/GothicLolita009
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU, Post-Deathly Hallows. Severus Snape ends up in Salem, at the request of a young woman who is desperate to save her little brother's life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. What Price, Sister Squib?

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: All Harry Potter related characters, locales, etc are property of Warner Bros. And JK Rowling. They are being used without permission and without intent to copyright any material herein.

"I am sorry, Miss Harker," said the Healer with a sympathetic look, "but there is nothing that can be done to help your little brother that has not already been done. Nothing at all. I am afraid all we are able to do is make him more comfortable as he deteriorates. If you wish, I could have him removed to the Hospital..."

"That will not be necessary, thank you, Healer Kilrain," replied the young lady as her hand looped around her brother's, "all Aiden has ever needed is me."

Her long, strawberry blonde braid falling down her shoulder, Grace Harker led her younger brother out of the main part of Salem, down Main Street and away from the Common. Past the twin spires of the Salem Witch Museum, down toward the harbor, where the boats rested like a floating village.

The mostly sleepy town of Salem was unique in its construction. Here, Muggle and Wizarding kind lived almost side by side. While many a traveler knew Salem as the Witch City, even the residents did not know just how true that was.

Hidden among the Muggle witches, those followed the Old Ways, were Wizarding kind.

It was Number 14, Pioneer Street, that the Harkers called home. It was a small row house, and they occupied Apartment 3A. It was a two-bedroom apartment, each room rather small. The kitchen and living area looked in on each other. The furniture had been salvaged from the fire which had orphaned them five years ago.

Since then, Grace had been forced into a sort of combat for survival. A kindly landlady who rented her extra rooms had given them their tiny home, above her own, and allowed them to live there in exchange for the work Grace could do. She looked after them, becoming their legal guardian temporarily. Grace had hoped she would show magic and could take a place at Salem Institute.

She had no magic. She had turned out to be a disgrace to Wizarding kind...a Squib. She had taken her bootstraps, pulled at them firmly, and gave a sharp tug. This led to a job at sixteen in an apothecary shop. It was run by a kindly witch named Marinda Kirk, and her Muggle witch friend Etherian Silver. Together, they ran the Raven's Moon Apothecary, providing not only a variety of herbal concoctions which were brewed on site, but Tarot readings, and other counsel to those who came in seeking advice.

For three years, Grace worked from before the shop opened and long after it closed.

When she returned home one evening in October, near All Hallow's Eve, her cry brought their kindly former guardian to their door.

Aiden, her precious little brother...her dear little brother, the little boy she did everything for, had collapsed in a heap.

When the Muggle physicians could give no explanation for his strange ailment, which only seemed to get progressively worse, Grace took her brother to the Salem Hospital for Magical Ailments. Much like its British counterpart, St. Mungo's, it was concealed in a Muggle building near the city's Common. Over a few weeks, Healer Kilrain attempted every sort of Diagnostic Spell imaginable, administered strange potions, and performed various other magical cures that could be attempted on a boy of his eleven years. All Healer Kilrain could deduce was Aiden's magic was working like a Muggle auto-immune disease...attacking his body from the inside.

Grace brought Aiden home, walking very slowly to accommodate his shorter legs and damaged lungs. She laid him down on his bed, stroking his sandy brown hair, her blue eyes filling with unshed tears.

"Don't cry, Sister," said Aiden with a weary smile, "please...don't be sad for me. I will be all right. I'm sorry for being such a burden."

"Oh, stop," she said, kissing his forehead, "you're no burden to me, Aiden. You're my dear little brother...and I promise...I will do something, anything I can, to help you. You're going to Salem Institute, and you'll be a great wizard. I promise."

The sun was just beginning to set over Salem Harbor, and while Aiden rested at home, Grace walked along the pier, tears stinging her eyes.

"Please...someone...help," she half-whimpered to the empty pier, the street beside it, and even the tall three-masted ship which was part of the Park display. Taking out her handkerchief, she dabbed at the tears, not noticing one drop to the ground.

"Why do you cry, young lady?" a small but distinctly male voice asked from her right, near where her tear had fallen a few moments ago. She let out a gasp as she looked down.

Standing at about her knee's height was a young man. He was dressed in a simple matching tunic and leggings of a pretty blue. What appeared to be a small pair of wings arched from his shoulder-blades, making Grace blink; she was not sure she had seen them. His violet, cat-slit eyes sparkled like his pointed teeth as he smiled at her and ran a hand through his tousled white hair.

"I—who are you?" she asked, strangely calm in the face of this new being which appeared to have emerged from her very tears.

"Robin," he said clearly, bowing with a flourish. "I saw your tears from beyond the Veil, and I want to know why you cry."

His voice was soft, kind, and musical. Grace watched as he came to hover in front of her, taking a place on a stone bench along the pier. In a sad voice, she told him her story...everything she had been through, and of her brother's plight.

"Well," mused Robin, "it sounds as if you, young lady, are in quite a predicament. You have no magic...and even the best Healers in this city cannot seem to help him. I see an empty chair by the hearth rug, and a bed without an owner in a short time, if things remain as they are."

"He's my brother!" declared Grace fiercely, angry tears filling her blue eyes, "I will fight to save him. No matter what."

The three words Robin had waited to hear.

""No...matter...what,"...hm?" he asked, looking at Grace critically, as if gauging whether she truly meant what she had said.

"Yes," she said, "I will do anything I can to save him."

The fae chuckled to himself. This was too rich, too good to be true.

"Very well," he said, casting his mind back, through the years, "there is, believe it or not, someone who can save your brother's life. A Master of Potions, far across the sea. His name is..."

"How can I find him?"

Robin stopped, tampering down the irritation which threatened to rise and make him snap at the young woman in front of him. She did not appear to be a girl without manners, and put it down to the situation as he went on.

"Buried, dear child. Dead and buried some...ten years ago."

"You're cruel, Robin," snapped Grace bitterly, "why did you make me think he was living?"

"You did not let me finish. And, before I was interrupted so, I was about to give you his name. It is Severus Snape."

The fae sounded offended, and Grace lowered her head, murmuring an apology. She had of course heard of Snape, albeit in the way of some vague historical figure. He had been one of best Potions Masters of his time...and also one of the most infamous characters of the Wizarding War.

"He could live again. I'm a fae, remember? Time and space mean nothing to me. If you wish, I...could...restore him to life, and bring him to you. But for a price, young lady. A price."

"What is it?"

She recoiled a little as Robin looked her over, studying her quizzically. She was not exactly strikingly beautiful, but there was something in her manner and presence which compelled him. His cat-like gaze was somewhat unnerving, as intense as it was interesting and beautiful.

"Your gift," he finally said, "the one thing which you hold dear. Your voice, little Grace. Your voice, for the life of your brother. Take it, or leave it."

Nibbling at her bottom lip, the girl considered the offer. Her brother was her world, the one person she had in this life to cling to. Could she give up singing...the one thing that belonged to her? Each Saturday, she went to the Witch's Brew Cafe...to In A Pig's Eye...even Salem Common...and performed. As often as not, she would sing. She was sometimes given a second-glance at the apothecary, when someone recognized her at the girl with her violin and the pretty voice of a Sunday. She knew there were whispers she could go far, if she weren't saddled with that little brother of hers.

"Well? What say you?" asked Robin, seeing her indecision.

"Agreed," she said, "let the bond be sealed."

"Very well then, Sister Squib," declared the fae with a little smirk, "look to the Moon, and sing."

Turning her eyes out onto the moon, which rose beautifully over the harbor, Grace let her voice ring out over the waters. Robin reached out, listening to the sweet, harmonious notes which flowed from her throat. It was a voice that was untrained, yet with a purity and clarity he had only heard in the exalted halls of the Faerie Queen herself. Or so he mused as the notes formed a silver orb in his hand, becoming trapped in a conjured crystal. It was a moment before he spoke again.

"Very well," he said, "your part of the bargain is fulfilled, little Grace," said Robin to the now silent young woman, "it is time for me to fulfill mine. Go home now, to your little brother, for whom you sacrificed so much. By sunrise, the one man who can help you will be here."


	2. The Potions Master: Redeux

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The meeting of Severus Snape and Grace Harker

Robin traveled, in the way of the Fae, back through time. The smell of death and decay hit his nostrils as he arrived at his destination. Hogsmeade, Wizarding Britian...a ramshackle place which looked as if it would break down.

It was into this place that he made his way. Lying on the ground in a pool of blood was the man he sought.

Alone. Broken and battered. Just, at the moment, how the fae needed him to be. His life thread was short; another breath, maybe two, and he would be no more.

"Can't have that, now can we, Snape," he murmured, and the next thing his quarry knew, they were wandering through the streets of Salem.

"This is clearly...not...beyond the Veil, or anything close to it," was the first thing Snape said when he had regained his senses. Pressing his still-bloody fingers to his neck, he felt no wound...only the scars where Nagini had pierced him. Confusion dueled with agitation for a long moment on his features, before the sky began to lighten with the dawn.

"Hello, Severus Snape," said Robin with a smirk, "and welcome to Salem—yes, it's that Salem. The year is 2008. There's a young lady, living just down the street, who needs help. And it's help only you can provide. I made a contract with her, and I brought you here. She lives in number 3A. Enjoy. Oh—and one more thing; she gave up something pretty important to bring you here, so be nice, okay?"

"Now wait one..."

But before he was able to say anything more, Robin had left him before Number 14 Pioneer Street, and disappeared. Snape decided to make the best of the situation, taking a moment to examine his reflection in a window.

He looked a sight. His collar was stained with blood, his black hair tousled, robes dusty. Well, contract or whatever, if Severus Snape was going to go and request assistance from this girl, he was not going to look like something Mrs. Norris had brought in. That was decided instantly.

Attempting to brush the dust from his robes, he reached for his wand...and was unable to find it.

"Bloody Fae," he muttered, and concentrated on a simple purging charm. The dust at least, was gone from his robes, and he straightened them. His hair was straightened, and the blood stain was...mostly...gone. He entered the main hall of the house, going quietly up the stairs to the apartment marked 3A.

As Robin had promised, the door flung open to reveal a girl roughly half his age. Her eyes were red from crying, hair tousled from sleep. But it did not look like she had gotten much of that. Her skin was fair, but not deathly pale, and her eyes were a pretty shade of blue...watery blue which reminded him of the water just outside on a sunny day.

For a moment, she looked up at him, blinking, her sleepy head falling to one side. She was light-haired, he could see, perhaps blonde. Her hair fell, sleep-tousled, past her shoulders.

"Perhaps," he began, "I should introduce myself, Miss. I am Severus Snape."

The girl needed no further provocation. She quickly gestured for him to come inside. It looked as if she would take his hand, but refrained...why he did not know.

The little apartment which he was shown into reminded him of what The Burrow might look like, if it were smaller. The furniture was slip-covered to look nicer, the wood scuffed but polished clean, the range in the kitchen sparkling. Snape became aware that while hardly a spacious place, the apartment had an air of quiet dignity in its light scent of lemon and vinegar.

The girl gestured to a comfortable chair near the hearth, and he sat as she turned on a few lights. She looked at him, and then back at herself, remembering she was in her nightdress. She flushed a dusky rose, raised up a single finger, and dashed into one of the bedrooms. After a few moments, she had reemerged in Muggle clothing; a simple pain of jeans and a non-descriptive shirt in a pretty shade of green.

For a moment, the man and the young woman looked at each other...blue and black meeting in a clash of gazes.

"That impertinent creature whose help you have apparently enlisted informed me rather tersely that you require my assistance," said Snape with far more patience than he felt, "so—I advise you, Miss, to elaborate, as he appears to have left you to do so."

The girl looked at him, shrugging a little, and shaking her head.

"Are you attempting to annoy me—or are you incapable of speech?" he asked her at last.

The girl quirked an eyebrow, and looked at him as if he were dense. Agitation rising more and more in the Potions Master every moment, he pinched the bridge of his nose, and sighed.

"Very well," he went on after a moment, "since you are, in fact, incapable of speech, the first order of business should be to find a means of communication. I assume you are capable of writing and reading? You don't seem entirely uneducated."

She shot him a glare, as if she were offended at his suggestion, and made a noise which sounded like a huff as she rose from her chair. In a few moments, she had returned bearing a large piece of what appeared to be paper at first. It was white, but as she set it up like an artist's easel, Snape was even more confused than ever.

"And just what, pray, is that?" he asked in a mixture of incredulity and agitation.

With a marker, the girl began to write. Her hand was neat, and she printed. She then stepped to the side, so he would be able to read her message.

WHITEBOARD. AKA, COM-MUNI-CAT-ION AIDE.

While her little insult to his intelligence did nothing to endear her to him, Snape found himself strangely drawn to and amused by this young woman, who was now erasing her first message, looking at him with a question in her eyes.

"Very well," he acknowledged "now, I ask again, do tell me what this business is all about."

The reply took her a little while to write.

MY LITTLE BROTHER, AIDEN, IS VERY SICK. ROBIN SAID YOU COULD HELP HIM. NO HEALER IN SALEM HAS BEEN ABLE TO DO ANYTHING EXCEPT TELL ME HE IS GOING TO DIE. HE IS JUST ELEVEN. I CAN'T LOSE HIM.

When she stepped aside and faced him again, Snape caught the worry and sadness in her face and eyes. His interest piqued. So...she had a younger brother who was quite ill...and she had brought him, from the verge of Death as he was, because she felt that he could succeed where Healers had failed?

"Very well," he said, "describe the malady as best you are able, please."

THE HEALERS SAY THAT IT'S LIKE LUPUS. AIDEN'S BODY IS BEING ATTACKED FROM THE INSIDE. THEY HAVE TRIED EVERYTHING. I ASKED ROBIN TO BRING YOU HERE SO YOU COULD SAVE HIM.

Snape considered the young boy's plight. He was of course aware of Lupus and its crippling nature on those who suffered from the disease. The boy should be going to school, not suffering.

"Is the cause of this malady magical?" he inquired in an almost bored tone.

THAT'S WHAT THE HEALERS SAY. AIDEN'S MAGIC IS KILLING HIM.

Snape nodded as he read the young woman's message. He had heard of the disorder. It was quite rare, and often killed witches and wizards who were afflicted much earlier in life. He considered what he had been told, before rising to his feet.

"Young lady," he said at last, "I cannot help but say I admire your courage, tenacity, and determination to save your brother. However, I must say that you were misinformed; I cannot imagine I could help your brother any more than the Healers could. And, if that fae lied to you by informing you otherwise, I am sorry. There is perhaps little, or nothing, I can do to help."

And, turning on his heel, he gave her a nod. He was going to find that fae and give him what for.

"Do excuse me," he said without turning back to face the girl, "but I believe I must set myself to the business of locating that—pest."

As he was preparing to leave, he sensed the object flying at his head. Snapping in a half-turn, he blasted whatever it was she had hurtled at him with a wandless spell. It fell to pieces between them. As he completed the turn, he noticed the object was a rather lovely snow globe. His black eyes followed the shattered mess to the young woman who had thrown it.

Desperation and anger dueled in her expression. She looked at Snape as if he were her last hope. For a long moment they looked at each other, the only sound in the room her tears falling onto the wooden floor. She looked skyward, glaring. The fae appeared with an annoyed sound.

"I never said he knew exactly how to heal him," said Robin with a sigh, "but he will be able to save your brother."

She looked ready to strike the fae, or hurl another blunt object through the room at him. Robin in turn also looked at Snape.

"Well, Snape...aren't you even going to try?" he asked.

For a moment, Snape considered not rising to the challenge. However, he would also not be known as someone who would back down from anyone. Especially an annoying fae. Turning his coolest gaze on the fae, he nodded.

"If I am to attempt any sort of assistance for the boy, I will require my wand, you bloody nuisance," he finally snapped. The girl wheeled on Robin too, glaring almost as angrily as Snape.

"Geez—angry much you two?" he asked, chuckling nervously. With a sigh, he produced Snape's wand, and returned it to him. While the Potion Master's wand practically ached to toss a few hexes at the fae for his trouble, he refrained for the sake of the young lady and her home.

"Evanesco," he finally said, pointing his wand at the watery mess which had been the snow globe.

"As for you, you obnoxious fae," he went on, pointing his wand at Robin, "I don't suppose I have a choice in this matter?"

"Not really," he said, "but—I could always let you go back to being dead."

And with that, he popped out before Snape could think of one of the thousand curses he knew to use on him. For his part, the wizard turned to look at the girl, who was standing near him, eyes watching his movements. With a sigh and infinitely more patience than he felt, he returned his wand to his robes, and regarded the girl again.

"I suppose using what talents I possess to assist your brother would be better than a messy exit," he said at last, "but, if we are to become allies, I suppose it would be best to begin with introductions. You, Miss, have the advantage of me in that department."

The young woman nodded in acknowledgment, and wrote on the board.

MY NAME IS GRANUILLE.

He repeated the Irish name incredulously, one eyebrow raising. He heard her write again.

GRACE. GRACE HARKER.

"Grace," he said, testing the name, before smirking a little, "hardly a name I would choose for such a...spirited young lady as yourself, Miss Harker."

The girl smirked back at him. And Grace Harker put out her hand to Severus Snape, who accepted it. With a firm handshake, the partnership was formed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just as a note, for the rest of this fic, all of Grace's writing will be in all caps for the sake of making it stand out. As always, your feedback and suggestions are ALWAYS welcome.


	3. The Examination of Aiden

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Snape meets his young patient, and the plan begins to form.

There was a little finagling that had to be done, now that Snape was for all intents and purposes, a resident of Apartment 3A. Grace's brain set to work almost at once on settling these logistical challenges.

THERE ARE ONLY TWO BEDS RIGHT NOW she wrote.

"The couch," murmured Snape, "should be suitable for a temporary repose. It is certainly better than my last."

A little snort was the only indicator Grace Harker was amused at his statement. She laughed for a moment, before collecting herself and cleaning off the whiteboard with an eraser.

ARE YOU HUNGRY? DO YOU WANT SOMETHING TO EAT? DRINK?

Snape mused over the inquiry, before nodding his reply.

"Is there tea?" he asked.

YES. AND I THINK WE HAVE SOME BACON AND EGSS, IF YOU WANT.

"That would be suitable," he said finally, falling back into the chair near the hearth. He drifted off for a few moments while Grace clambered about the kitchen. The smell of cooking food made Snape's mouth water and stomach growl. It felt like ages since he'd had any sort of nourishment.

After breakfast was completed, and Snape was on his second cup of a very nice Earl Grey, he watched Grace go into the bedroom, where he assumed young Aiden would be. She carried a tray of food, and returned in a few moments empty-handed.

"Miss Harker," said Snape at last, "I shall set myself to examine your brother after he has eaten. In the interval, however, I hope you will indulge one or two questions which I would very much like answered."

Grace nodded her assent, taking up the black marker which was her line to the world.

"Firstly, I was told this is the year 2008?"

Grace nodded.

"And, since the world has not come to complete and utter ruin, I assume the Wizarding War in Britain against the Dark Lord was a success?"

She nodded again, turning to the board.

THE WAR ENDED TEN YEARS AGO, GIVE OR TAKE A FEW MONTHS. VOLDEMORT WAS DEFEATED BY HARRY POTTER. LAST I HEARD, THERE WAS STILL A DEBATE OVER WHAT SIDE YOU WERE ON.

"I see," said Snape with a nod, "and—I would assume, everyone believes that I am dead?"

I GUESS SO she wrote, BUT I DON'T KNOW FOR SURE. EVERYONE HERE THINKS YOU ARE, ANYWAY.

The information was satisfactory for the moment, and Snape nodded again.

"Are you yourself not a witch?" he asked.

Grace shook her head, cleaned the board, and wrote.

I'M A SQUIB.

She met his eyes with a certain amount of defiance, as if daring him to make a snide comment about her status.

"That is unfortunate," said Snape, "but only in the respect you will not be as much assistance in your brother's treatment as I had hoped you might be. Your declaration, such as it is, makes no difference to me otherwise. I think, I should like to examine your brother, if now is a convenient time."

Grace nodded, and led Snape into her brother's sick room. It was as cheery as she could make it, with a window partly open to let in the gentle early-morning air off the harbor. It smelled deliciously of sea water. The room was painted a deep blue, with matching covers on the small bed where Aiden was resting.

Snape took a moment to regard the room, and the boy. The room was small; enough for a chair, desk, bookshelf, and a bed. Aiden himself was propped up on several pillows, glancing idly out at the window, his breakfast only about half finished.

"Oh...hello, Sister," said the sandy-haired boy, his brown eyes sparkling. Grace smiled lovingly down at him, reaching out a hand to stroke his hair before kissing his forehead. Aiden's eyes soon fell on the man beside his sister.

"Um...hello," he said, "who are you?"

"A friend, young man," he said calmly, taking the chair and coming to sit before the boy. Steepling his fingers, he looked at Aiden. He was rather thin for his age, and small, but his eyes were bright. He could use a bit more color, mused the Potions Master.

"Sister...who is this?" he asked Grace, looking nervously at her.

"It would be best if you do not hurl repetitive questions at your sister, young Aiden," said Snape, "she has a terrible case of laryngitis, I am afraid. Possibly permanent. I am here at your sister's invitation, because she believes I can help you to get better. Is that enough explanation for you?"

The boy nodded, and Snape came to kneel at his bedside, looking at him.

"Now then," he said, as if he were addressing a First-Year, "I should like to make a full physical examination of you, boy. Any objections?"

His voice was calm, even soothing, as he spoke. Aiden shook his head.

"Very well, then," replied Snape, and looked over to the silent young lady who was watching him intently.

"Miss Harker, I should be appreciative if you allow me a few moments alone with the boy. It would be probably be best if you were not present for the examination."

At her critical and dubious look, he went on.

"I assure you, Miss Harker...if I wanted to harm the boy at all, I would have already done it. If you wish me to help him, you must allow me a free hand."

From her look, Grace seemed to understand the implied nuance of his statement. Her nod was her answer.

I trust you.

About an hour later, Grace looked up from her dishes as she heard Snape emerge from Aiden's room.

"I will not offer you false hope, Miss Harker," he said at last, "the odds are not entirely in your brother's favor. However, I shall promise to do whatever is in my power to bring him around."

Grace smiled and nodded, sniffling a little. She turned to write on the board.

THANK YOU.

While Grace went out on a mysterious errand, Snape availed himself of the surprisingly comfortable sofa for a few hours, allowing himself to turn the situation over in his mind at last. The thought at last occurred to him that he was free. There was no more Dumbledore giving him orders, no more Dark Lord to call him with the Mark that had been branded into his arm. On a whim, he undid his sleeve, pulling it up to examine his left forearm. The Mark was still there, but significantly faded. It was as if it had been a tattoo that had undergone some laser removal. Pulling his sleeve back down and buttoning it, Snape sighed.

For years, spying and lying, concealment and subterfuge, had been his modus operandi. The fact he was no longer required to do any of things left him a little disoriented and, perhaps, even a little lost.

For the first time in what felt like forever, Snape fell into something of a peaceful sleep. He was soon awoken by a light shaking of his shoulder. Aiden was hovering over him, looking a little weary.

"Mister?" he asked with uncertainty, "I'm hungry."

Rising from the couch, Snape looked around. Grace was still nowhere to be seen.

"Very well, boy," he said calmly, "return to your bed...I suppose I can find something here for you. And you may call me Sir."

"Yes, sir...thank you."

And in a sweep of black robes, Snape went into the kitchen. From the meager offerings, he managed to produce a suitable lunch for Aiden, and delivered it to him. After seeing to it the boy ate as much as he was able, he attended to the dishes before turning his pondering to Aiden's malady.

It would be a dangerous cocktail, most likely, that the Potions Master would first need to obtain the ingredients for, and then actually produce. He would need to refresh his memory on what would be needed.

That, of course, would mean a trip to Salem Institute. He set his mind to the problem of getting access to what more than likely would be difficult-to-obtain books. Perhaps that blasted fae could be of some help, but he somehow doubted it. Any contacts which might be of any help whatever were ten years or more out of date. With a sigh, he supposed he could confer with Grace, when she returned.

After another hour or so of waiting, Grace did in fact return. She carried a large bag in her arms, which went into her brother's room. She attempted to wave at Snape as she passed, but only succeeded in nearly dropping her large bundle. After a few moments, she came out into the main room, where the white board was, writing.

I GOT A FUTON TODAY, SO I CAN SLEEP IN MY BROTHER'S ROOM. YOU CAN HAVE MY ROOM. I CHANGED THE SHEETS AND AIRED THINGS OUT.

"Miss Harker," said Snape when he had read her message, "I do not intend to deprive you of your bed. And, if I recall, I believe I was clear in stating the couch was quite sufficient."

Her reply was terse, and accompanied by a glare to rival his.

IF YOU KNEW WHAT I WENT THOUGH TO GET THAT FUTON, YOU'D THINK DIFFERENT.

Snape sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. Honestly, the girl was infuriating.

"Very well," he said at last, "I shall inspect the room."

Grace's room was a nice, noncommittal shade of green. The window opened out onto the harbor, letting in the sea breeze. There was a desk and chair, collections of books, and a bed. Mercifully, the room was not decorated in girlish trappings in any sense of the word.

"I suppose," he said, "this will work nicely."

And then she pointed to a pile of clothes which rested on the bed. Muggle clothing. He eyed them dubiously, but sighed and waved the girl out of the room which had become his.

Sitting quietly in the main room that night, Snape watched Aiden and Grace play a quiet game of cards. He had been asked to join, but declined, content instead to watch the younger folk. When Aiden wearied, Grace helped him to bed, making sure he fell asleep before returning to their guest.

"I will need access to some, at the best, questionable material at Salem Institute," he said to Grace after a while.

She smirked, and wrote.

DON'T WORRY. I HAVE A PLAN.

Snape sighed.

"Somehow," he said "that does not reassure me, Miss Harker."


	4. Salem Institute

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Salem Institute is now the research home of "Dr. Prince."

The next morning after breakfast, Grace and Snape made their way through the streets of Salem. Aiden was left with the kindly landlady. In Grace's bag was a new portable whiteboard made of melamine.

Stifling a yawn, Grace meandered into a little shop just off Congress Street, which she had said made excellent coffee.

I DON'T TOUCH THE COFFEE, BUT YOU CAN TRY SOME IF YOU WANT, she wrote at Snape, who nodded his assent. They were soon armed with a dark roast blend and a heady cup of English Breakfast and walking toward Salem Common. On the way, Grace pointed out some of the more interesting landmarks of the city in the early morning light. Snape looked at each with interest, asking Grace a question or two as was necessary.

Salem Institute was at the Northern end of Salem Common, designed as a Muggle building. It was under the guise of a dignified preparatory school, and one of the most influential in Wizarding America.

At the gates was an elderly lady, who looked to be much older than Snape. Her grey hair was twisted up into an elegant bun, and she looked to be wearing one of her better robes.

"There you two are," she said with a smile, blinking for a split second. For a moment, alarm bells rang in Snape's mind; was it possible she had recognized him? His first impulse was to draw his wand, but he instead would allow the situation to play out as it would. Grace trusted him with her brother's life, now he too had trusted her with his.

"Madame," said Snape, giving a little bow as they approached.

"Call me Mrs. Kirk, if you must," she said "Grace has told me about your needs. Just follow me you two. Stay close."

Snape raised an eyebrow at Grace, who merely followed after Mrs. Kirk. They went through the halls of the Institute as if they owned the place, finding the Library.

"Good morning," she said to the junior clerk on duty, "my friends here need access to the Restricted Stacks."

"Sorry ma'am," he said as he eyed the lady nervously "but policy states-"

"Now just you look here young man," began Mrs. Kirk "do you have any idea who this is your are speaking to? Why, this is the great Healer Russell Jameson Gottesrich Sigismond Von Prince! One of the most prominent Healers of his time! Now you just let us through there."

And without another word, she swept her companions through to the Restricted Stacks. Snape blinked as his eyes adjusted to the light, smirking a little.

"Madame," he said "do remind me never to get on your bad side."

"Think nothing of it, dear boy," she said, leaving them at a bare table "now—you two do what you need to do. I'll make arrangements for your return. Can only bluster through like that once, you know."

And with a sweep of her robes, she was gone.

"Your friend is quite formidable, Miss Harker. I must admit, I underestimated your abilities for a moment."

Smirking, Grace gave him a mock bow, and began looking about the stacks. For a moment, he watched her, seeing her wonder at so many books filled with often Dark knowledge. The seedier side of magic, to be sure. But it did not seem to intimidate or frighten her. In fact, quite the opposite. She appeared to have a voracious love of knowledge which had not been obvious to him at first.

"Do you enjoy being locked up with a bunch of dusty old books?" he asked, not hiding his amusement.

She nodded, her eyes glittering, her face lit up. Snape reached over, giving them a bit more light to see by. After a few moments, the lady called Mrs. Kirk returned with a couple of laminated badges in her hand.

"There you are," she said "I guess you'll be needing to come here more than a few times, so here are some passes for you. Oh—and if anyone is to ask, you're my nephew, dear boy."

While it irked Snape that she had the effrontery to refer to him as, "dear boy", he guessed he didn't mind so much, seeing as Mrs. Kirk was not a witch he wanted to be on the wrong side of. He watched her leave them to their work, before turning to Grace.

"I believe," he said "we shall begin with Most Potente Potions, Miss Harker."

After three hours sitting in the Restricted Stacks, Snape finally carefully unfolded himself, stretching the muscles which had grown tense being hunched over books. Grace had been an admirable assistant, fetching books and attempting to follow Snape's train of thought as he muttered to himself over the texts, making notes in the book Grace had provided for him. It was Muggle-style, but it was the best that could be done for the moment.

"Miss Harker," he said, "I believe that we should both attempt to acquire some form of nourishment before we continue along this path. Is there a place where we might obtain such a thing?"

Grace considered a moment, and nodded. Leaving their books and a note saying they would return, the pair set off for lunch.

The afternoon passed very much like the morning. Snape went on ahead to continue the research while Grace hurried home to attend to Aiden and spend some time with him. She joined him a couple of hours later.

"You will be pleased to know, I have made some progress while you were away," was the first thing he said when he sensed her return. She smiled at him, leaning over his shoulder to see what he was reading.

As the sun was setting, Grace and Snape put away their books, making notes of the titles as they did so. The set of books in the Restricted Stacks was extensive, and as an academic, Snape was quite pleased with the day's results.

That evening was a quiet affair. For once, Aiden felt well enough to be at table, and he ate with his sister and the man he was now able to call "Mr. Prince."

While Grace attended to the dishes in the kitchen, Snape turned to his notes, examining them. He had read several case studies of disorders which mimicked Aiden's. Most of the young witches and wizards did not survive. Aiden's magic had not begun to manifest itself but a little at best since the age of eight. And the attempt to control or use his magic had left the boy feeling much as he did now.

As he looked over the list of materials he would need, then at the house, he sighed.

"Phoenix tears...essence of asphodel...blood from a Flabbersnich...oh, yes. Little Miss Harker will most assuredly be able to purchase these items with whatever salary she might possess," he muttered to himself sarcastically.

He heard a shuffling of feet. Grace came into the room in a thin cotton dressing gown, braiding her strawberry blonde hair as she sat down near her white board, looking at her guest quizzically.

"Miss Harker," he said "I don't suppose you happen to have several thousand Galleons hidden under the floorboards, do you?"

The girl shook her head.

WE'RE ORPHANS. MY FATHER WAS KILLED IN A FIRE FIVE YEARS AGO. MY MOTHER DIED IN THE WIZARDING WAR ACROSS THE POND.

The expression she had used was new, but not unfamiliar to the Potions Master. However, the problem of how to obtain the necessary tools and ingredients for the potion irked him far more than he thought it would be able to. Without even realizing it, he had become invested in the young woman and her little brother.

The problem bothered Snape even at he tried to sleep that night. It was either very late, or very early, before Morpheus found him.

An insistent knocking roused him from his early-morning meditations. He had been mostly unable to sleep, and turned his mind instead to quieting itself, which was almost as good.

There was no stirring from the room next door, so Snape went to answer it, revealing the charming Mrs. Kirk, a basket in her hand.

"Good morning, dear boy," she said, and blustered past him into the kitchen, where the basket came to reside.

"Good morning, Madame," he said "unfortunately...both Miss Harker and her brother are still abed at the moment. Was there something you needed?"

"Yes," replied the old witch, regarding the Potions Master with a critical eye "and we don't need to wake little Grace or dear Aiden. It's you I want."

Somehow, the thought did not seem to calm Snape as she plunged into her basket. She pulled out some Muggle clothes, holding them up against him.

"There," she said, handing him a pair of jeans and a button-down shirt, "that'll go quite well together."

"For what, may I ask?"

"Breakfast, m'boy. I intend to take all of you out to breakfast, and then the apothecary. Etherian won't be in today, and I could use an extra pair or two of hands, if you could help."

"I am afraid someone must be available to stay with the boy," replied Snape calmly, "so, I am afraid I must decline."

"Nonsense," she said with a dismissive wave of her hand, "I am sure that Hettie can watch the boy. He's a lamb, he is. And she knows the number of the shop, in case you or Grace need to return."

Apparently, the lady was going to have an answer for every protest he could think of. Nodding his assent, he went to put on the new Muggle clothing he had been given. Before rejoining Mrs. Kirk in the kitchen, he quietly opened the door to look in on his young charge and his sister.

Aiden slept peacefully in his little bed. His breathing appeared to be a little labored, but not enough to cause him distress. On the floor and on her futon was Grace. She slept deeply, her hair falling about her like a cascade of ribbon.

It was, all in all, a beautiful scene.

Closing the door on the siblings, Snape went to join Mrs. Kirk, who had made coffee and was pouring a pair of cups.

"Grace has been a really wonderful assistant," she said "and her little brother...such an angel-boy. Their father was a Muggle, you know. Took his poor Eleana's death very hard. Grace has been the strong one; like her mother, you know."

"I was unaware," he murmured as he sipped at the excellent coffee, "Miss Harker has told me nothing of her family life before I arrived. I did not ask."

"Oh, they were a charming family, the Harkers," murmured Marinda Kirk as she added a bit more cream to her coffee "William, their father, was as good a man as a witch could ever hope to find. Oh, and Eleana...as lovely as any girl who ever went through Salem Institute. The girl has her mother's eyes, you know. Caused a bit of a stir, Eleana did, when she married William Harker; she being from a good Wizarding family, and he from Muggle stock."

"If Miss Harker's mother came from a prominent Wizarding family in Salem...did they not seek the children out after the death of their daughter?"

"Eleana gave up whatever rights she had to her family's estate when she married William. He was one of the few Muggles who only loved her the more when he discovered her secret. She was always headstrong, was Eleana; she got that from her father. He disinherited her the very same day she married."

Snape turned the information which had been shared over in his mind. The story was not unlike that of his own mother, Eileen.

'And in the end,' he thought ruefully, 'it it always the children who suffer.'

"Grace has been a very good girl," went on Mrs. Kirk "she has never gotten into a scrap of trouble to speak of, and always looks to her brother, even before herself. Why, I remember last Winter, she sold off some of her father's prized books to buy food and blankets for herself and Aiden, and gave him the best of everything. She loves that boy as if she were his mother, and not his sister; but then, I suppose it had to be that way when Eleana was killed."

"Miss Harker mentioned that her mother was unfortunate enough to be a causality of the Wizarding War in Britian."

"Yes. Aiden was little more than a babe in arms when Eleana heard from her cousins in England that the War was going badly for them. She arranged for a ticket and a flight to join them. She was, as I understand, killed in what they have called the Battle of Hogwarts."

Snape knew of the battle, all too well, and nodded.

A shuffling of feet announced the conversation was no longer private. A sleepy-eyed Grace came into the kitchen, looking between the two adults quizzically.

"Ah—good morning, Grace dear," said Mrs. Kirk brightly "get yourself ready, and Aiden too...we're off to breakfast."

Snape caught Grace's anguished eyes as she nodded and trundled off, wondering how much the girl had heard.


End file.
